A Love for Avocados
by senor failboat
Summary: Dick Gumshoe is a bit scatterbrained, but he's good at his job. His boss may come off as cold, but he's a good man. Dick sees the little human bits of him every now and then, and they only make him respect Mister Edgeworth more.


Title: **A Love For Avocados**  
Category: Games » Phoenix Wright: Ace Attorney  
Language: English, Rating: Fiction Rated: T  
Genre: General, Humor  
Disclaimer: I kind of wish PW was mine, but it's not, so.

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N: Written for the Phoenix Wright Kink Meme! I have a few more, but I'll post those later, when I'm feeling less lazy. I feel the same way about vegetarianism that I made Dick feel here: I respect it, and I think it's cool, but oh damn I love meat too much. I don't have the will power or the motivation to commit to it, but if you do, more power to you.

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When Mister Edgeworth arrives on scene, everyone's spines straighten out as they all try to look like they're working hard. A couple of them, Dick notices, actually _do_ start working harder; you can tell who they are because they aren't standing ramrod straight like somebody nailed a two-by-four to their backs.

Dick salutes Mister Edgeworth, who sort of waves his hand in dismissal. He gives the prosecutor a run-down of the scene, and only forgets a few minor details, like when and by whom the body was discovered. It's no big deal; Mister Edgeworth is smart, he'll probably know twice as much about the scene by the time Dick's memorized the essentials. And that's fine by him, because Mister Edgeworth is a damn good man. And Dick has nothing but respect for him.

So he cringes through Mister Edgeworth's loud reprimands for forgetting "simple facts," and walks him through the crime scene. Dick figures it's probably your average body dump, from the way the girl's clothes are torn and misplaced, as well as the fact that the blood pool is pretty small. He may be a little clueless about some things, but Dick's been at this job for a long time; he can figure out what these clues lead up to.

Dick and Mister Edgeworth split up. Mister Edgeworth says it's "because if you call me "pal" one more time..." and grits his teeth, which pretty clearly translates to "Gumshoe stop talking or you will not be able to pay your rent (again)." Dick and the other officers bustle around, photographing evidence, keeping away the curious bystanders, bagging and tagging; the usual. Meanwhile, Mister Edgeworth tunes out the commotion and thinks, getting the really cool I'm-Concentrating look he has that Dick is a little jealous of, mainly because he thinks his own makes him look dumb.

Several hours later, after the body has been transported to the coroner's office and the chief medical examiner, whose name Dick doesn't think he'll ever know how to pronounce, has done his thing, Dick goes to find Mister Edgeworth again and tell him the details of the autopsy.

Dick finds Mister Edgeworth snapping commands at Officer Reed, who looks mighty nervous — it's the guy's first time at a murder scene, and Mister Edgeworth can be really intimidating. Dick decides to try to help the poor kid out.

"Mister Edgeworth!" He jogs up, smiling as he holds his notepad, and winks at the rookie cop. Officer Reed is visibly relaxed, but he still looks flustered when Mister Edgeworth dismisses him, snapping a sharp salute at his superiors before walking away as quickly as he can.

"What is it, Gumshoe?" Mister Edgeworth sounds exasperated.

"I just got a call from the coroner's office," Dick explains. Mister Edgeworth turns his whole attention to Dick, who runs through the details of the girl's death. He winces a little when he mentions the girl's multiple stab wounds (three to the chest, on straight through her left hand, one to the neck that ultimately led to her death), but Mister Edgeworth is stoic.

Just when Dick is remembering some less important details (like her age, name), he hears a noise that is very familiar to him: Someone's stomach growling. He knows it's not his — he would have felt it — and no one else is around, so...

"Have you eaten lunch yet, Mister Edgeworth?" he asks, a little concerned.

"That's not important," Mister Edgeworth snaps, bristling. He always bristles when people ask him personal questions, Gumshoe notices; it's a little endearing.

"Sure it is, pal," he insists. Dick knows the value of a meal intimately. Ever since Mister Edgeworth became his boss, he's learned a new appreciation for food that he didn't really have before. "You can have some of the weenies I always pack—"

"It's not important," Mister Edgeworth says again, glaring Dick into silence. "And anyway, I'm a vegetarian." He shakes his head, mentions something about "finding someone _competent_," and stalks off.

Dick just blinks after him.

Later that day, the killer returns to the scene, presumably to watch the police scramble around. Dick is the one to apprehend him.

He doesn't do the interrogation, mainly because this piece of slime annoys Dick too much for him to think straight. It's not like it's really necessary anyway, Dick thinks; the guy was bragging about how he tortured and killed the girl from the minute he got the cuffs slapped on him.

_Sick_, Dick thinks as he leaves the station. He shakes his head to rid himself of dark thoughts, and instead turns to thinking about what he needs to get at the store for himself and Missile as he crosses the street. It's probably just going to be cheap ramen and hot dogs again, but he's fine with that. Maybe some crappy beer, too, if he can swing it.

Thinking about food turns Dick's thoughts to what Mister Edgeworth said. He'd never really pegged Mister Edgeworth as a vegetarian, but then, he also hadn't expected to find his boss listening to heavy metal in his office while filling out paperwork. It's little things like this that remind him of how human Mister Edgeworth is, even if sometimes he seems untouchable. He's a good guy.

When Dick gets home from the store, he tells the same thing to Missile.

Missile just barks once and lays his head on Dick's lap.

It's not until a few days later that Dick gets to talk to Mister Edgeworth again. They're meeting up to prepare for court, like always. The chief had been hoping to get this case wrapped up immediately after the suspect got nabbed, but Dick had kind of been expecting a delay when he found out the kid's name. When you're dealing with the son of a wealthy, pretty prominent guy, you kind of expect setbacks.

When Dick walks into the room he's supposed to meet Mister Edgeworth at, he sees the prosecutor eating a house salad. It's kind of weird to see him eating. In fact, Dick thinks he's only ever seen Mister Edgeworth eating maybe three times since he's known him. It's even weirder when Dick thinks that Mister Edgeworth probably eats that sort of thing all the time. And probably _enjoys_ it.

Dick reflects that he's definitely more of a steak kinda guy, then wishes he'd had enough cash to buy breakfast. Even one of those nasty breakfast burritos from the gas station would've been all right...

He sighs, then puts a smile back on his face. Things'll get better.

After that, work goes pretty much back to normal, which means a bunch of crap calls, several robberies, a couple of gang shootings that have no witnesses even though there are very obviously witnesses, and a bunch of domestics that have Dick's head reeling. Not for the first time, he's a little glad that his pay gets cut so often, because he knows if he had enough cash to do it he'd probably become an alcoholic. It runs in the family (whether you mean the biological one or the force). But that's another story, he sometimes tells Missile, who always looks up at him with those old eyes, like he's saying "I know."

It's not until a week and a half later that Dick and Mister Edgeworth cross paths, and this time it's in an unlikely place.

"Hey boss," Dick greets Mister Edgeworth as he gets in line at the grocery store. He's got one of those plastic handbaskets with him, and it's filled with cheap ramen (again), hot dogs (again), and orange juice (for the first time in too long). He also picks up a pack of gum from the stand on the side, and smiles.

Mister Edgeworth has a regular basket. Unlike Dick's handbasket, it's filled with healthy foods: A loaf of wheat bread, a carton of milk that's apparently made of almonds, a couple of ears of corn, a bunch of bananas, and a bag of dog food with a name he's only heard in passing — AvoDerm.

Mister Edgeworth flashes him a smile that looks somewhat forced as he loads his items onto the conveyor belt. "Good evening, Gumshoe." He glances at the hot dogs in Dick's handbasket, and turns sort of green.

"So hey, how'd you decide to become a vegetarian, anyway?" Dick asks. He might as well make smalltalk; the little old lady in front of them has so much that her basket was almost overflowing before she unloaded it, so it's gonna take a while.

Mister Edgeworth sighs. Dick wonders if everyone who finds out asks him the same thing, and feels a little bad. "Isn't it obvious, Detective?"

"Um..." Obvious? "Not really." Dick scratches the back of his neck, chuckling a little. "I mean, I like vegetables as much as the next guy, but my parents practically raised me on steak. Besides, pal, I always figured, you know, nutrients..." He trails off, because Mister Edgeworth is frowning severely.

"There are no necessary nutrients for functioning that cannot be obtained from plants," he says. The line sounds a little rehearsed, but it also sounds like it's probably true. "Besides, except for the b-complex, most meats are actually more vitamin deficient than plants."

"Oh. Well, I guess my main reason is probably that they taste good, then," Dick says, grinning as he places his meager rations on the conveyor belt. He leans over to drop the handbasket onto the stack beside the magazine rack, then looks back at Mister Edgeworth. "Better than onions, at least."

"I enjoy the taste of onions. Besides, taste shouldn't be your only factor in deciding what to eat. Think about your health, Detective — and if you can't think about that, then consider your finances."

_Ouch, pal_.

Mister Edgeworth goes on like he didn't just stab Dick with his words. "Meat, poultry, and dairy products have no fiber content, but they can easily create an excess of protein. Which is not to mention all of the degenerative diseases they can induce — gum disease, diabetes, arthritis; the list continues ad infinitum."

Dick doesn't really know what to say, so he just goes for anything. "How's Pess?"

Mister Edgeworth's eyes light up, and he smiles warmly as his items are scanned. It's then that Dick notices for the first time that his boss is dressed casually; or, well, as casually as Mister Edgeworth can really get. He isn't wearing his normal pink-red jacket or his frilly neck thing, or even his dark vest. In fact, he's just wearing some pink-red slacks and a white button-up.

"She's fine," Mister Edgeworth says as his price goes up on the checker. He hands the young cashier, who's blushing madly, his credit card. "How's Missile?"

"Loving his retirement, pal. He's gonna be even happier when I bring him home these hot dogs." When Mister Edgeworth curtly bids him farewell, Dick grins. "See ya later, boss."

Two days later, Dick is walking Missile through what he's sure is pretty much the only dog park within (barely) reasonable distance from his house, when they run into Mister Edgeworth and Pess.

Or, well, they don't exactly run into them. But they do see them. Specifically, they see Mister Edgeworth kneeling down to rub Pess' ears, and laughing loudly when Pess licks his face. Making little wooby noises when she barks, and feeding her a treat.

Pess sticks her paws on his chest and barks again, and he falls back beneath her weight. Hugs her, ruffles her neck, scratches her belly when she rolls over.

Dick looks down at Missile, who looks right back, tongue lolling out, and everything suddenly clicks. He grins.

"Hey, boss!"

One month later, Dick discovers that both he and Missile have acquired a love for avocados.

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N: I'm going to go to bed now.


End file.
